


song in flight

by orphan_account



Series: random winterfalcon fics [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Pining Bucky Barnes, Pining Sam Wilson, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Safehouses, Sam Wilson Has Wings, Sam Wilson's Wings, Winged Sam Wilson, Wingfic, Wings, i just really want it to be clear that sam has real wings in this, tired babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 08:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20832401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "'I was worried, too.' James looks at him, and Sam gives him a sad smile. 'You was bleeding pretty bad.''Careful, Wilson.' James bumps their shoulders together. 'A guy’ll start thinkin' you actually care about him.'When Sam looks at him, there’s none of the teasing that usually resides within his eyes. He almost looks sheepish, and hell if that isn’t yet another good look on him. 'You say that like it’s a bad thing.'No. It’d be a wonderful, wonderful thing. And that’s exactly why he doesn’t think it.". . .James and Sam recover in a safehouse.





	song in flight

**Author's Note:**

> I have been trying to write a sambucky fic for the past month, and I finally got it right! I was actually kinda nervous about this at first, but I'm really happy with how it turned out. Only the best for these lovely honies ❤❤❤.

When he stumbles out of his room that morning, it’s to the sight of Sam sitting on the butt-ugly couch Steve picked out at a garage sale in Kentucky. The T.V.’s on, but Sam’s not looking at it. His gaze is on the floor, seemingly lost in the intricate patterns of the shag carpeting beneath his bare feet. James clears his throat, and Sam, tiredly, lifts his head to look over at him.

"Rough night?", James asks as he sits down beside him. He doesn't have to ask. He can see it in the bloodshot of his eyes, in the way his wings droop heavier than usual, the tips dragging against the floor the way he knows Sam hates.

He doesn’t have to ask, but he does it anyway. It feels like the thing to say.

"Adrenaline crash", Sam says with a shrug, like it’s just another one of those things that can’t be helped. The morning after a mission always hits him the hardest. With his wings and his increased reliance on his telepathy, he expends more energy than he can easily bounce back from. And though he’s always reassuring them that it’s nothing more than he can handle, James still worries.

He doesn’t have the chance to voice this worry, though. Sam’s feathers, matted and colors duller than he’s ever seen, rumble, a ripple of decaying reds and white against a backdrop of brown. Sam rolls his shoulders, straightens his back, and sighs. He rubs a knuckle into the corner of his eye and asks, "What about you? You sleep okay?"

The smile that finds its way to his face is small. He turns his attention to the ceiling fan above him and watches as the blades lazily slice through the air. "Well, I didn’t wake up screamin’ in the middle of the night so...." He leans back against the couch and tilts his head. "I’d consider that a win."

Sam humphs. He’s smiling, too, now. "Gotta love the little things."

_ He sounds tired _ , James thinks, then looks at him and thinks of those pictures of baby ducks drowning in oil spills.

He doesn’t know much about Sam's past. He knows he had a friend, another man with wings, that he saw shot out of the sky not even ten feet away from him. James knows what that could do to a person, and, if he’s being fair, getting involved up in his, Nat, and Steve’s bullshit probably hasn’t helped matters. 

They’re only supposed to be here 'til Steve and Nat haul ass and meet up with them. They’re a few hours behind schedule, but once they get here, it’ll be a matter of minutes before they leave. 

( _ That’s kinda the point of a safehouses _ , Nat had said wryly. _ They only work as long as no one’s there. _ )

He knows Sam would never ask for a break. The guy’s fucking stubborn as hell, it’s one of the reasons he fits in with them all. He’s stubborn, and he’s passionate, and he’s selfless.

And of course, all he gets in return is the title of “Wanted Fugitive”.

"When we get home", Sam muses, his voice wistful and dreamy. "I’m gonna have my neighbor make us some sweet potato pie." He lets his eyes close and moans. "Man, he made the best pies."

James’s smile thins, guilt settling heavy into his veins as the thought of everything Sam’s been missing since he’s joined them. He turns so that he faces him, his cheek pressed into the plastic wrap covering the couch. "Was he a baker?" His voice is low, soft, but it echoes loud in the quiet confines of the cabin.

Sam’s is the same, but it doesn’t sound quite as hesitant. "Nah. He was taking a culinary course as an elective, though. He was pretty good at it, the wiseass."

James pictures that. He hasn’t tasted a sweet potato in years. "He use brown sugar?"

"And cinnamon", Sam affirms. "Heaviest-handed motherfucker in the world but it works for him." He opens his mouth to say more, only to groan and abruptly sit up groans, his wings flapping irritably at the plastic behind them. He winces, letting them stretch all the way across the couch and inadvertently slapping James in the face. "Sorry." He turns so that his shoulder is to the couch and scratches the back of his head, his gaze returned to the floor. "They’re restless in the morning.”

James just nods, feeling his smile grow stronger as he watches him. His eyes take in the way his feathers shimmer underneath sunlight seeping in between the blades of the curtains. They all get antsy, especially after missions like this, but it’s always worse for Sam. 

_ “It ain’t right, keeping birds in cages” _ , his sister used to say, red in the face from her attempts to get their mother to release the red robins she’d purchased from the store.  _ “They’re like angels” _ , she’d say to him afterwards.  _ “Why would anyone wanna lock up an angel?” _

James clears his throat, turning his head so that Sam doesn’t notice how red his face has gotten. "Wanna go for a run?"

Sam scratches at his stubble, and James imagines running his fingers over it. "Probably better to stay inside, case anyone followed us." Sam smiles, though, and claps him across the shoulder as he leans forward to grab the remote. "But Imma take you up on the offer once our pardons clear. "

James rolls his eyes, his eyes settling on the T.V. for a moment as Sam turns to a Pirates of the Carribean marathon. He keeps his gaze there as he says, "I was worried, you know".

Sam doesn’t look at him. He just sets the remote down, his wings gently folding around him as he avoids James’s eye. "Yeah, I know."

The mission, a supposed to be in and out, had gone sideways. James caught the barrel of a gun to his head, and, when he woke up, Sam was caught on the inside of a net, panting heavily and beating his wings frantically against the gritty textile. He’d never said anything about his claustrophobia, which made it all the more daunting for James to see him so thoroughly frightened.

"I was worried, too." James looks at him, and Sam gives him a sad smile. "You was bleeding pretty bad."

"Careful, Wilson." James bumps their shoulders together. "A guy’ll start thinkin' you actually care about him."

When Sam looks at him, there’s none of the teasing that usually resides within his eyes. He almost looks sheepish, and hell if that isn’t yet another good look on him. "You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

No. It’d be a wonderful, wonderful thing. And that’s exactly why he doesn’t think it. James smiles, swallowing the swell of adoration rising in his chest, and just looks at Sam, a moment longer than he has any right to. "Nat’ll be here soon", he says when the moment’s gone and they’ve yet to look away from each other. "Steve, too, but you know he always finds trouble."

"Right." Sam clears his throat and leans back. "Uh." He blinks, one wing awkwardly settling over the back of the couch, and moves to stand. "I’ll stand lookout."

He only gets a step in, wings raised to fly him to the door, when James shoots a hand out and stops him. Sam glances down at it, his feet just above ground, and lifts his eyes to meet James’s gaze. James gulps and, with a gentle tug, pulls him back onto the couch.

"I uh..." His eyes dart down to Sam’s lips, then back up to his eyes. "I’d prefer it if you stayed here." Sam looks starstruck, eyes wide and feathers rumpled. "O-okay", he says and smiles a goofy grin, the muscles in his everything relaxing and fuck it-

James leans in and presses their lips together. When Sam breathes, it’s shaky, relieved, and he does so while slowly melting into the kiss, pressing as close to him as humanly possible. James makes a noise low in his throat, content in the way Sam's wings lazily wrap around them, shielding them from the cool drafts of air passing through the cabin. 

"Sam", James breathes as they part for air. He blinks through his lashes, his chest tight and his words thick with emotion. Sam pants, fingers curled up in the fabric of James's henley, and licks his lips. "I know, man." He smiles, soft and bright, and James’s heart sings at the feel of his feathers clinging closer to him. "I know."

James wants to say more. He’s about to say more. But it’s in that moment that the sound of a key jingling pierces the air. Immediately, they both jump away from each other, James tripping over the coffee table and Sam crashing onto the far side of the couch.

They’ve both wrestled guns into their hands when the door peels open to reveal a disheveled, green-haired Natasha standing in the doorway. She opens her mouth to say something, then pauses, her eyebrows raised in confusion.

"Why are you on the floor?", she says to James. Then, to Sam, "And why do you look like you just fell out of the sky?"

Sam merely purses his lips and retorts, "Why is your hair green?"

Natasha pouts, honest to God pouts, and kicks the door shut behind her as she makes her way into the kitchen. "Steve and me couldn’t shake the assholes on our tail", she murmurs, the sound of the fridge opening accentuating her sentence. "And purple isn’t my color." When she returns, it’s with a silver of packet of what James knows is saltines and almonds. She tears it open, then makes her way for the door. "We borrowed a truck on the way. Pack your shit and get moving." She spares them one last look, a fond smile upon her face, before leaving, just as quick as she’d come.

James moves a bit awkwardly after that, fumbling as he packs his gear into his duffel. He hesitates at the door, though, his bag feeling far too heavy against his shoulder as he quietly asks, "We still on for that run?"

Sam turns from where he’d been staring at the vibrant-haired idiots outside the window and blinks. And then he smiles, and James can’t help but give him one back. "Give me a time and place and I’m there." His wing and James's shoulder bump together as Sam passes by him.

James bites his lip, grabs the doorknob, and pulls the door shut, eagerly following after Sam.


End file.
